Author note: I remember vaguely making some rash promise about finishing this story tonight, but at that point I thought this chapter might be the last one… but you know what, I'm enjoying this a bit too much. And, more to the point, Sheppard's still out of it, so you'll have to wait a little longer for that awkward conversation (Weir and Sheppard's guilt-fest, that is)… Thanks again for the reviews – feedback is great, makes me happy inside!

Chapter 9

From her bed in the infirmary, Elizabeth could hear Sheppard's team as they loitered outside the isolation room that still housed the injured Colonel.

She herself was dressed in scrubs, and sported an IV on the back of her left hand. She was sitting on top of the blanket, with a laptop resting on her legs. The IV kept getting in the way when she tried to type. Carson had gently suggested that her report of the mission could wait, at least until she was a little more recovered from her concussion, but there was a part of her that just wanted to get it written. Then, there was another part of her that never wanted to write the damn thing up at all.

Every blink, every tightening of the jaw, made the pain in her head blossom. And there was a small part of her that was glad of it. It wouldn't have felt right to have emerged from the whole sorry affair intact while Sheppard …

She broke her chain of thought as the conversations of Sheppard's team again filtered through the curtains around her bed. God, was she really hiding from them? Perhaps she was, though she'd have to face them sooner or later. And him, too. Though from what Carson had told her it would be a while before he was well enough for any kind of meaningful conversation. She'd been out of it herself until a few hours ago. It had only been a day so far, after all.

Elizabeth stared blankly at the equally blank document in front of her on the screen for another five minutes before giving up and closing the lid with a snap. If she couldn't face Sheppard yet, at least she could visit with his team, and say… something.

The infirmary floor was cold on her bare feet, but the IV pole was a useful brace against the residual dizziness as she stood and made her way through the curtains to the isolation room's viewing window.

Elizabeth liked to think she was good at reading people, but she didn't want to try and read the expression on their faces as she made her way over to Rodney and Ronon. The Satedan's face was a mask, but he silently removed his feet from the spare chair they'd been resting on when he saw her approach – perhaps actions did speak louder than words.

"Elizabeth," Rodney began – now there was a man who usually had no shortage of words. "You're… uh.." he flapped ineffectually with one hand, but she could tell what he meant and managed a weak smile as she lowered herself carefully to the chair that Ronon had freed up for her.

"So, how's he doing?" she asked, carefully.

"Doc says he's doin' good," Ronon offered, uncharacteristically the first to reply. Was he really going out of his way to try and make her feel more comfortable?

Elizabeth looked again through the window at the still form of her second in command. To her eyes, he only looked better because he'd looked so terrible before.

"So your device is working, then, Rodney?" Elizabeth queried, turning to the scientist.

"Yes, seems to be," Rodney replied. "It's emitting a localised field to keep the remaining nanites in his system inert until he … er… excretes them naturally."

Rodney made a face and looked back through the window, unwilling to meet her eye. He had a point, too. It had been shocking to witness the initial expulsion of the nanite fluid back on the planet, but she shuddered at the idea that the process was still going on, albeit gradually, and this time with proper medical care and pain relief.

"Ah, there ye all are," came Carson's voice from behind them. "Elizabeth, love, how're you feeling?"

"Better, thank you," she replied, absently, eyes still on the man in the isolation room. "How's he really doing?"

The doctor sighed, and when Elizabeth turned to look at him properly, she could see the shadows under his eyes and the drop of his shoulders that revealed how tired he was.

"It's slow progress, but he's getting there," the doctor confirmed. "I'd thought at one point that we might have to intubate to give his lungs a rest, but luckily his breathing picked up. It's fascinating, actually, from what we can tell the nanite fluid had coated the lining of his lungs – he wasn't breathing before because the gas exchange was being done by the nanintes themselves. When he started expelling them, his body had to remember how to breathe – at bit like when someone's been intubated, in fact."

"But he'll make a full recovery?" Elizabeth queried again.

When Carson looked back at her his eyes were full of understanding, and he answered the question she hadn't asked.

"I won't lie to ye, it was touch and go for a while. The repeated exposure to the energy weapon has caused damage to his central nervous system, but –" he held a hand up "- it's improving all the time, and there's no reason at the moment to think he won't make a complete recovery. We have him on dialysis to speed up the process of ridding his body of the wee beasties, and we're giving him some medication to boost his immune system – trying to fight this thing off has certainly taken its toll on his system. He's on some heavy duty pain killers to counteract his nervous system being over-stimulated, but overall I'm pleased with his progress at the moment."

Elizabeth looked down at the floor. Damage to the central nervous system. She'd done that. Somehow as her mind supplied an image of him lying, ashen-faced, in the jumper, the pain of her own injuries – the ones she'd sustained at his hand – wasn't quite enough.

A hand on her shoulder roused her from her self-recriminating reverie, and by the time she looked up, she'd managed to school her features. With an appreciative nod at Rodney and Ronon, she allowed Carson to lead her back to her own infirmary bed.

"It's not yer fault, lassie," he said, softly, once they were out of earshot. "They all know that. Even Ronon. Especially Ronon. He feels terrible that it ended up being you in there. And yes, John too. The times he's been coherent enough to talk, he's always asked after you."

Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed and let her shoulders sag. "I could have killed him, Carson," she said in an uncharacteristically small voice. "I did kill him. That last stunner stopped his heart."

"Aye," Carson sighed, sitting down beside her. "But we got him back. And if ye'd not taken the shot…" he left the words hanging, looking pointedly at the mottled bruising that covered one side of Elizabeth's face.

She gave a tiny nod, pursing her lips. Carson was probably right. John would be the last person to condemn her for what she'd done. What she'd had to do. But the memories would haunt her for a very long time.